Phantom Photographs
by Phish Fobia
Summary: No matter how enjoyable, some things are never meant to happen.


Author: Phish Fobia

Email: phish_fobia@hotmail.com 

Title: Phantom Photographs.

Summary: No matter how enjoyable, some things are never meant to happen. 

Category: Angst/Drama/Character death

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Author Notes: This is my first completed attempt at writing an HP slash fic, and I don't think I've done so bad. I've got to admit, though, that without my FABulous betas Katie and anaimos this wouldn't be half as good. I'm a true feedback whore, too. ::smiles sweetly:: Well, here it is.

_***_

_You saw a flash of blond hair, one day, far across the street. Half-long pale threads of liquid silver. You were getting out of a car, and you stopped as though you were hit with a freezing curse. Your friends looked at you, you blinked, shook your head and smiled apologetically.  
  
"It's nothing," you said. "I thought I saw someone I once knew."  
  
A pained expression flickered across like a bolt of lightning on your face, and your friends knew better than to ask any questions. You went through the rest of the day with lingering feelings of unease and guilt. _

_It shouldn't have ended like that. _  
  
***  
  
You have never been this confused in your whole life. Of course, many confusing things have happened to you so far, but none of them ever contributed to you feeling completely sleep-deprived.

  
Obviously, you have heard mentions of 'those people,' as the Dursleys always said disapprovingly, but you never thought you could have been one of them. You have never even really thought about it, until...  
  
"Watch where you're walking, Scarface," drawled a familiar voice as you tripped over the feet of a certain pallid blond boy, all your books falling out of your hands. Ron helped you up and muttered something angrily. You turned around, ready for one of those confrontations you were so used to by now.  
  
His eyebrow was cocked, and his eyes expressed a certain amusement. You noticed that he was not looking at your face. Your robes clung to the hem of your stone-washed jeans and revealed the bulge just below your waist. You blushed, straightened your robes and, firmly deciding not to look at the smug bastard, you bent down to pick up your books with as much dignity as you could muster.  
  
"You should do something about that," he called out. "It tends to get painful if not attended to."  
  
You fled and locked yourself up in the bathroom, leaving you best friend blinking in confusion.  
  
Later that night, you woke up with your pants drenched in come, images of silver hair and pale grey eyes still lingering in your mind, as though they were printed on the inside of your eyelids. Phantom photographs picturing quite unspeakable things, but that did not matter, you loved them.  
  
It wasn't until you caught yourself staring at the other boy far more often than necessary that you realized something wasn't quite normal. You managed to catch his eye once, blushed immediately and tried to hide behind Ron's taller frame.  
  
But he already knew.  
  
***  
  
You were alone in the Quidditch changing rooms after doing a few additional laps, half naked and drenched in sweat. You felt perfectly content after flying, at peace with everything, with yourself, and the world. His face never haunted you when you were up in the sky, above all your daily concerns.  
  
You were just taking off your trousers when you heard steps behind the door. It didn't worry you, though, as you assumed it was Seamus coming back for his Quidditch robes. They were still laying on the bench.  
  
"Your robes are just there, on the bench," you said, finally wriggling out of your trousers. Someone laughed lightly, came closer to where you were standing, and touched your back.  
  
"Seamus..?" you asked, uncertainly. You turned your head, and there he was, all silver ice and rainy grey clouds.  
  
"Hi there, Potter," he said lightly, placing a possessive hand on your chest.  
  
_This can't be happening_, you thought frantically, staring at him.  
  
"Waiting for me?" He smirked as you felt a blush creeping up on your ears.  
  
"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?" you spluttered angrily.  
  
"Oh, don't tell me you don't want this," he said, with the trademark arrogance in his voice. You felt his other hand on your shoulder.  
  
"Want what?" You tried so hard to keep a semblance of dignity. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Malfoy. Just go away, okay? Let me get dressed..."  
  
He hissed and bit you on the shoulder. You squirmed and tried not to show just how much you wanted him to do it again. "I see the way you look at me, Potter. I'm not blind. I know you're dying for me to do this."  
  
"Do... what?" you said weakly. You felt him smile as he kissed the nape of your neck, one of his fingers moving in slow, tantalizing circles around your nipple. You felt so nervous and aroused that you thought you'd come right there. But you didn't want to give him that satisfaction. You promptly turned around, threw him to the ground, and pinned him there, your arms at both sides of his chest.  
  
He looked up calmly at you, the tiniest bit of color visible on his cheeks, and the only thing you were capable of doing in that moment was biting him on the corner of his lips.  
  
"Feisty, aren't we?"  
  
"Oh, shut up," you said, and he did just that. You started moving your hips in circles on his, and he flinched and thrust his hips a little upward. It was barely perceptible, but it was all you needed to know that he wasn't going to reject you.  
  
You smiled and started kissing him, frantic, passionate kisses entwined with bites, the sloppy kisses of someone too dazed and tense to care.  
  
"You're not doing this right," he managed to pant from between your hungry tongues.  
  
He was on top of you, now, but you didn't notice how did he get there, nor did you care. You groaned when he took his mouth away from yours.  
  
"Don't move," he said, and you obeyed.  
  
He started licking his way down your stomach, little groans coming out of both your mouths. You clutched at his hair, and he finally slid your boxers down your legs. You were moaning and thrusting your hips into his face. You came as soon as he took you in his mouth, your whole body throbbing.  
  
"Well," he said from between your legs, "one can't say that you have much endurance, Potter. Not getting that much action, are you?"  
  
You moaned one last time, and sat up.  
  
"What the... What have we just done?"  
  
"We were on our way to have mind-blowing sex, but unfortunately you can't keep your excitement down."  
  
"Why... I mean.."  
  
"There's nothing to understand," he interrupted. "I don't think I have to precise that if you mention this to anyone, you won't be getting any from me, ever again," He stood up, looking disdainful. "Not that anyone would actually believe you in the first place."  
  
He straightened out his robes, and went out of the changing rooms.  
  
You looked after him, feeling dazed. This was something you'd have a hard time forgetting.  
  
***  
  
"Potter," an anguished voice, urgent whisper. "Potter, you'd better get out, now, or they'll see us... like this."  
  
You mutter unintelligibly and snuggle closer to the other warm body. _So warm_, you think, not without wonder. You always thought he'd be as icy as his glare, as his glacial biting insults and his cold demeanor.  
  
"Others be damned," you whisper into the other boy's arm.  
  
He shoves you, quite violently, off the bed. "Don't think I'm proud of what we've just done," he hisses dangerously. The words don't really bother you. You were always rather fond of his fierceness. "Don't think that, when the time comes, I won't do what I have to do."  
  
You get up from the cold stone floor, brush the dust off your legs and smile pleasantly at him. "Don't think I won't be there to spoil it for you."  
  
He shakes his head in annoyance, and throws your boxers to your feet. "Now go," he says, and you see something akin to despair in his pale grey eyes. Obediently, you put on your clothes, and slip through the door, without a single backward glance. You can still feel his eyes on the small of your back.  
  
Once you reach the Gryffindor common room, you collapse in a soft armchair. The next day, your friends find you there, kissed by dawn, your hands sticky with sweat and something else, enveloped in a tangle of robes and pajamas you have not quite managed to put on straight.  
  
You're too busy catching up on your missed night's sleep to notice their concerned expressions, their worried whispers. It's been a while since you have noticed anything about them, really.  
  
***  
  
You make love to him as though you can brand him, as though you're important enough to make him stop. To keep him with you. You don't care how hopeless the situation is, all you know is the look on his face as he comes, your name on his lips. A look of pure euphoria, adoration. He curls into a little ball, still shuddering slightly, and you spoon up behind him, holding him tightly. Your own body is still throbbing, and you hold him, resolving to never let him go, even if you'd have to stay right here, like this, forever. Until he finally admits that he is yours.  
  
And this night he doesn't chase you away, and you both fall asleep in each other's arms.  
  
***  
  
He says all those things. You don't really want to listen to them, but it's not as though you have a choice. You realize there is something very endearing in that veiled urgency in his voice, something that makes you want to take him in your arms and just keep him there. Never let him go and do the unspeakable things that are, for him, far more than just an obligation. They are his destiny, the only reason for him actually being alive.  
  
He stops talking, and looks expectantly at you, but you remain silent, eyeing him steadily, calmly. He flinches, and slowly begins to turn around, his shoulders slumped.  
  
"Malfoy," you call out to him. He turns around, the same expectant look on his face. "Wait for me tonight, at your room. Keep your door unlocked. I'll be there at one o'clock."  
  
He nods, but you can't help seeing the disappointment in his eyes as he turns around and heads to his dormitory, his shoulders still slightly slumped, but his head as high and proud as always.  
  
***  
  
You do your paperwork, all the time wondering what would it be like to live with him. To hear his voice on a daily basis, fight over what Muggle implements you can install at home, listen to him snore after you're done with him. To watch him pretend that he doesn't really care about you, he's only doing this because he hates you, and Harry, oh, Harry, yes, do that again, please do that again.  
  
***  
  
The day you hear about his death on the radio, you barely react. You're slightly annoyed by Ron's spiteful remarks, but you hardly show it. Living with a constant threat of death leaves you indifferent when it actually happens. You grieved over the first losses, then you started going through the motions. There was really nothing you could have done.  
  
"He was killed by Harry Potter, commander of the allied forces on the fourth day of the battle of Hogwarts," the voice announces.  
  
Ron smiles victoriously and slaps you on the shoulder. "I always knew we'd get the bastard," he gloats.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
You stroll away from the Burrow and take a walk in the woods. You feel a twinge of guilt, but you're not entirely sure what, or whom, for.  
  
***  
  
You can't manage to get that rush anymore, when you fly. You seem very robotic in all of your actions, nothing is really making you happy anymore. You have hordes of adoring fans, even more that before, it seems. You feel completely out of place, and so very, very tired. You barely notice your friends' concern, not that you have noticed them for a long time. You barely notice how alienated you feel when talking to them, all you know is that it hurts to smile, it hurts to joke when all you want to do is go far away and forget about everything.  
  
You're flying up in the sky, above London, the invisibility charm on your brand new broom switched on. You look at all those people underneath you, and think about how no one down there knows who you are.  
  
And it strikes you hard, and you nearly fall off your broom. You finally know what you must do in order to keep your sanity.  
  
***  
  
The rain splatters down noisily on the tombstones, your hair and your clothes are drenched with icy water. You're sitting on the ground, in front of a beautiful tombstone made out of black marble, saying a silent farewell to the world that took you in, the world where you were part of something. To the world that shaped you into who you are right now. To the world that finally took away your freedom and your joy when you gave it what it expected you to give. When you accomplished your duty.  
  
**Draco Malfoy  
1980-2000 **  
  
Nothing decorates the tombstone, except for the flowers you brought today. After all, no one honors the death of an enemy. You know that the stolen moments with Draco were meant to be your last moments of freedom and of carelessness. You hope you're about to change that.  
  
You always thought that paying homage to dead corpses was kind of pointless, but you feel so perfectly peaceful there, sitting on the grave of your lover. This is the last time you're going to think of it, you promise yourself; you're going to start a new life.  
  
So of course there's nothing shameful in washing away all the painful memories with tears you thought you'd never manage to produce, in drowning them like the rain is threatening to drown you right now.  
  
And you sit there, until dawn finds you, soaking wet and with a tear-stained face.

.


End file.
